Seeds of Dissent
by joshuaorrizonte
Summary: Sown by tragedy, watered by truth... the birth of the Renegades. (Spoilers, rated for language)


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Takes place 300 to 500 years prior to the game. I'm rather proud of this, considering I'm in the midst of a nasty writer's block... enjoy.

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They were exhausted, both of them, tired of trying to meet his demands. Every failed Regeneration, every child they slaughtered tore out another bit of their souls until they were worn and tattered. The girls were of varying age, but to the ancient Seraphim, they were all but children.

It sickened them.

Desperate for a reprieve of this insanity that had gone on for centuries thusfar, the two began suggesting things to their illustrious leader. Different ways, minor detail changes that grew to crazy- and stupid- proportions. When this child, this Chosen, was orphaned at birth, one of them, in a fit of idiocy, had suggested that they raise her themselves.

And Yggdrasill, in a fit of equal idiocy, had agreed.

Whose idea it was originally was lost. Both lesser Seraphim pointed the finger at the other, but neither complained. They were both positive that this way would produce a vessel fit for Martel. They never hid their identities from her, and never hid her fate. She had been far, far to young to start the journey, they both knew, but by her tenth birthday, they also knew time was running out. Her mana signature was changing as she aged. By her sixteenth, she would be completely unsuitable, if she was not by her eleventh. And thus the journey began prematurely.

She had failed to unlock the seal at the Tower of Mana. Iudbris, the guardian, had in fact fallen, but the seal did not react. Her guardians, tense and both filled with dread, took her back to an abandoned area of Asgard. It was a playground, long abandoned by the city, it's aging structure seen as unfit for play by the city's children and unfit for reconstruction. They did not want to take away from the maintenance of the ruins the city was built around.

The half-elf pushed the girl on a swing while the human contacted Yggdrasill. She was laughing, temporarily forgetting her failure in her enjoyment, but the blue-haired angel could not. He watched his partner intently as he pushed, straining to hear the human's side of the conversation, spoken in the angelic language; the transmitter was so quiet itself, and combined with the hushed tones spoken, it was impossible for him to hear Yggdrasill.

He tensed as the other's deadpan monotone changed ever so slightly, reflecting a desperation detectable only to one who had spent almost four thousand years with him. He kept up his pushing motions but the girl, vastly more intuitive than other children her age, dragged her foot on the ground to stop the swing and looked over her shoulder at him. "Big brother?" He glanced down at her, his hands tightening around the chains that held the swing. "Yuan?" she tried again, fear creeping into her voice.

"Hush, Katrina." The other's voice was rising steadily, defiance mincing with desperation, until the other speaking through the transmitter said firmly, coldly, _I don't care, Kratos. Kill her._

Yuan went cold. He never imagined anything spoken in the angelic language could sound so harsh.

The human's body stiffened; he didn't even have time to acknowledge the command before the transmitter went dead. Kratos stood and turned slowly, meeting Yuan's gaze grimly. The half-elf looked away.

Kratos strode forward and seated himself on the swing next to Katrina's; she kicked at the dirt beneath them. "What's wrong, Kratos?"

"Nothing." He gave her a tiny smile, ignoring Yuan's heated glare. "It's almost time for dinner. What would you like to eat?"

Katrina hopped off the swing and into his lap, giggling. Kratos dug his feet into the ground to keep the swing from moving and brought his arms up to support the child. "I don't care. You know I can't taste it anyway."

Kratos tilted his head to the side. "Really?" he asked. "Maybe tonight will be different."

The child hesitated and squirmed at that, fixing her gaze on his chest. "I want Risotto," she said quietly.

The auburn-haired man nodded and stood, Katrina still in his arms, and set her back down in the swing. "Play with Yuan until dinner's ready," he told her, ruffling her hair before walking away.

The two watched him set about preparing that night's meal, and after a moment Katrina looked up at Yuan again. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"No." Yuan pulled the swing back and pushed gently, but the girl dragged her foot on the ground again and dropped off it, turning to look at the Seraphim with a hurt look. "I'm not stupid," she said quietly.

Yuan met her gaze, his heart breaking. "I know you're not. I'm not mad at you. Kratos isn't. You haven't done anything wrong." Katrina heaved an exageratted sigh, tapping her foot impatiently. Yuan would have laughed had the situation not been so grave. Instead, he moved around the swing, knelt, and hugged her tight. "You're a good girl, Katty. Remember that."

"And you're a good brother," she replied. Yuan choked, although he did his best to hide it from his young charge. This had been a mistake...

The half-elf kept her there, telling her various stories, until Kratos indicated that the meal was ready. They headed to the camp fire, Katrina skipping the whole way, already forgetting how upset her big brothers seemed to be earlier. Kratos wordlessly handed her a bowl and she dug in eagerly, not noticing that neither angel had taken any for themselves. She squealed in delight and announced that she could, in fact, taste it and Kratos was the best cook ever. And she could feel how hot her food was, too.

It was only five bites before she yawned, setting the mostly-full bowl aside and blinking at the two men through blurry eyes. "Wow. I'm sleepy... I haven't been sleepy in so long..." Without asking, the girl laid down and rested her head in Kratos's lap. The human didn't protest and merely began stroking her black hair. Yuan stood and walked over to the slide, putting a hand on a support and bowing his head. She yawned again and looked up at him. "Tell me about the angels... one more... time..."

Kratos ignored the question her words brought up and simply began. "Long ago, there was a great tree that was the source of all mana. A war, however, caused this tree to wither away, and a hero's life was sacrificed to take it's place. Griev" he stopped there, looking in her blue eyes; she no longer moved, her eyes no longer saw him. He reached up and slid his hand down her face, closing her eyes.

There was silence, then, a long, horrible silence. Kratos still stroked the girl's hair, staring dully at the body in his arms until Yuan punched the slide's wooden support, hard enough to fracture it. "I hate him, Kratos," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "I would like nothing more than to take the rest of that risotto and shove it down his selfish, childish throat. I want to see him _dead._"

Kratos looked up at his blue-haired companion, noting that he was still facing away from him. "Your wrist is going to hurt you after that impact," he said quietly.

Yuan spun, eyes blazing with fury. "How can you be so heartless?" he spat, seething.

"I am not being heartless," Kratos snapped back. "You and I both know this fate was a much more merciful one than what we were leading her to!"

The other angel laughed bitterly and turned away. "Fate. Right." He bowed his head again. "I hate him and his twisted ideals."

Kratos didn't respond, instead lifting the Chosen's body in his arms and standing. He walked away from their campfire several feet before gingerly laying the girl out, folding her hands across her chest, and smoothing her dress. After stroking his hand down her face one last time, he took several steps away from her, pointed, and whispered a single word: "Fireball."

The magic in the fire that engulfed her prevented the foul stench that usually accompanied burning flesh. Kratos turned away, head down.

"Why?" The other's voice was soft, almost undetectable to even Kratos' angelic hearing. "Why are we doing this? These children... it doesn't matter whether they successfully release the seals or not. It doesn't matter if they can become Martel's vessel. It doesn't matter. They're condemned to die in one way or another." Kratos met Yuan's gaze evenly as he took a deep breath. "This... this is ridiculous. Martel would be appalled that we're doing this."

"She would," Kratos agreed quietly, and summoned his blue wings. "We should return to Derris-Kharlan."

Yuan gaped at him. Kratos agreed with him and would still return to him? "You're going back?"

"There's nothing I can do. You, either." The auburn-haired man's deadpan voice reflected a helplessness, a desolation. Yuan was surprised at how much of his emotions he was allowing himself to show, but he supposed the other was probably distraught over their failure.

Yuan crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the ground. "Maybe there isn't," he replied quietly. "Go on ahead. If I return right now, I'll try to strangle him."

"I will tell him that you have unfinished business that must be dealt with."

"Thank you."

Kratos left him, then, leaving Yuan with his tormented thoughts. Things couldn't be as hopeless as the human thought they were. There had to be a way to end this insanity. He wanted Martel back, desperately, but this price was far too high, and it had been for ages. Meanwhile Martel herself was trapped in the seed of the Great Tree, unable to die and unable to live, a mere consciousness existing. The world was suffering insurmountably as the two torn halves still warred with each other without even being aware of the battles they fought.

It was twisted. It was asinine, horrible, terrible. It was evil. It had to be stopped.

Yuan didn't pay attention to the passage of time as he stared at the fire Kratos used to burn Katrina's body, his gaze not wavering even when it burned down to smouldering ashes. Neither did he notice when the campfire also burned out, leaving him in the darkness of night. He was in the process of pondering just never returning to Derris-Kharlan when his thoughts were finally broken by a scream of pain that pierced the night. His head jerked up, scanning the area for the source of the cry, his ears picking up cruel laughter as well. Orienting himself to the noises, he ran to the back of the abandoned playground.

There he found a group of human boys, surrounding something on the ground, kicking it. "Hey!" he yelled at them, striding forward as he recognized the form as humanoid. "Get away from him!"

The boys turned to him, looking surprised, then one- whom Yuan assumed to be the leader of these brats- laughed. "Oh? And whatcha gon' do if we _don't_?"

Yuan didn't reply, and merely crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at the group. One of the smaller bullies snickered as the boy on the ground tried to crawl away, and kicked him again. The boy collapsed back onto his stomach in pain. "Lookit his hair!" the small one taunted. "It's blue! I bet he's a half-elf, too!"

"Naw," another bully added. "His ears ain't pointy. Maybe he wants to _be_ a half-elf!"

"Half-elves don't always have pointy ears," the leader drawled back at his cronies. "Sometimes they look almost human." The boy narrowed his eyes at him. "So what is it, fag? You a half-elf or what?"

Yuan smiled very slightly at the insult. Such a comment might have gotten a rise out of him three thousand years ago. Instead of answering the question, Yuan said simply, "Watch your language, boy."

"Half-elf or not, I think this loser needs to be taught a lesson," the leader responded with a smirk. "We can deal with that pus later!"

Sighing in exasperation, Yuan summoned his aqua-colored wings as the gang advanced on him. "That would not be advisable," he informed them in a cold tone.

The little one gasped and pulled back on the closest bully's arm. "Dude! It's a fucking angel!"

"Yes," Yuan snapped, "a very _angry_ angel who has _not_ had a pleasant night. And if you value your lives, or even just your dignity, I would very strongly recommend that you urchins turn around and run home to your mothers. And watch your language!"

"That's no angel!" the leader snarled. "Fairy is more like it!" With that, the boy lurched at Yuan.

The Seraphim very calmly reached out, clamped his hand down around the boy's throat, and lifted him several inches off the ground. "What did you call me, boy?" The bully choked, his face twisted in sudden terror as his buddies ran off, screaming. Yuan lowered the bully just enough that he could stand on his toes and loosened his hold on his neck so he could speak.

"No-nothing, sir!" the bully gasped, clawing at the angel's hand.

Yuan squeezed again in response, growling. "That's not what I heard!"

As soon as Yuan relaxed his grip again, the boy stuttered, "I called you a fairy, sir! And a fag!"

"And that wasn't nice, _was it?_"

"No, sir, it wasn't!"

"And what do you have to say about your filthy language and poor behavior now, boy?"

"I'm sorry, sir!" The bully appeared to be near tears, shaking in terror. "I'm very very sorry!"

Yuan lowered the bully completely, relaxing his hold enough that it wasn't interfering with the boy's breathing anymore, and nodded to the half-elf on the ground, who was staring at the scene before him in a mix of terror and awe. "And what do you have to say to that young man?"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'll never pick on you again, I swear!"

Yuan released the bully entirely now; the boy collapsed to the ground in a sobbing, pitiful mess. "Get out of my sight."

The bully stumbled to his feet and ran blindly, blubbering apologies as he went. "Pathetic," Yuan sneered quietly, then knelt next to the young half-elf. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I-I'm fine," the teenaged half-elf stuttered, drawing himself up on his knees and keeping his gaze trained on the ground, his hands twisting in each other.

Yuan smiled slightly at the fear that was practically radiating off the boy. "I'm not going to hurt you," he reassured quietly. "Are you sure you are not hurt?"

"Y-yes sir..."

"My name is Yuan," he said at that, holding out a hand. The half-elf, still awe-striken, took it in a limp grip and let Yuan make the shaking motion.

They were silent for a few moments after Yuan released his hand. The half-elf caught the angel's inquizzitive gaze and offered, hesitantly, "I'm Botta."

"A good name."

Now that this strange person hadn't tried to pick him up by the throat as well, Botta's confidence was high enough to attempt a conversation. "Are you really an angel?" Yuan nodded, and Botta looked him in the face and then around at his wings; Yuan twitched them slightly, causing the other to start and gape at him again. Managing to gather his wits back to him, Botta asked another question: "Is the legend about angels true? Is that what really happened?"

"Ye-" Yuan stopped mid-word, noting that Botta's expression said that the young man didn't believe the legend. He hesitated, his mind turning over the events of that day. This cycle of death was perpetuated by that lie, that false legend that kept the people of the twisted worlds complacent. It was time to tell the truth. "No," Yuan said finally, firmly. "It is not true. Would you like to know what really happened?"

"Yes, please!" Botta all but jumped up, his expression now eager.

"Very well," Yuan said, standing and offering Botta a hand to help him up, as well. "Come over here back to where I was camping tonight. I'll restart the fire and we will talk of the truth."


End file.
